“Smith-Reid, I think.”
“You oughtta come to Maryland. We party all the time, don’t we, George?”
George had fallen asleep.
“I need to get back,” Blondie said.
“Well, if there’s anything else we can do …. ”
As soon as he opened the door to their room, Blondie’s eyes were drawn to a girl sitting cross-legged on one of the unmade beds. She was wearing a tank top and a pair of panties and sipping one of their beers.
. “This is Marianne,” Feller informed him. He was combing his hair in front of the mirror. Brick and Dispatch were sitting on Dispatch’s bed, leaning against the wall and gawking at Marianne as if she were an apparition. Shakes was still passed out on the bed, limbs akimbo.
“Hello,” Blondie said.
“Hello yourself,” she responded.
Blondie couldn’t believe it. A girl in their room — and she was cute. He shot Feller a questioning look.
“Go on and sit by her,” Feller said.
Blondie walked over and sat down beside the girl. She had long dark hair and a trim body. Her breasts were small, but her nipples punctuated her cotton shirt in a provocative manner.
“Marianne’s staying across the hall with some other girls,” Feller said slowly, as if he thought Blondie might miss the significance of his words. “With my sister Patty,” she said.
“They go to Central Tech in Baltimore.”
“We’re Techies.”
“Marianne likes her back rubbed,” Feller continued.
Where the hell was Feller getting all this? Blondie hadn’t been gone a half-hour.
“Rub her back, Blondie.”
“Would you like your back rubbed?” Blondie asked Marianne.
“Oh, yes.”
He began rubbing her back, beneath her shirt. Her skin was smooth and soft. Blondie felt himself becoming aroused.
“Ask her if she’d like her front rubbed,” Feller said.
Blondie eagerly complied.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I don’t know you.”
Blondie was pleased she wasn’t offended.
There was a knock at the door. Dispatch got up and opened it. A piggy-looking girl with strawberry blonde hair marched in.
“What are you doing to my sister?” she demanded of Blondie.
“Rubbing her back,” he answered blithely.
“Well, rub yourself.”
Blondie felt too mellow to respond.
“Is that your sister?” Feller asked her. “I should have known. There’s a real resemblance.”
The newcomer took Feller’s remark as a compliment and softened. Feller introduced everyone in the room except Shakes.
“My name’s Patty,” she said.
“Have a beer, Patty,” Feller offered.
Patty liked the idea a lot and soon sat beside Marianne nursing a Pabst. Dispatch, pursuing a plan of his own, took a seat on the floor near Patty. Not even eleven o’clock and two girls in the room. Things were looking up, Blondie thought.
“Are there any more of you lovely ladies over there?” Feller asked.
“Two more of my friends,” Patty responded.
Perfect, Blondie thought. Right across the hall.
A few more beers and Marianne and Patty became downright chummy. Marianne was letting Blondie kiss the back of her neck. Patty, mollified by alcohol, watched dreamily as Dispatch stroked her legs. Feller stood in one corner watching, a smile on his face.
A sudden creaking pulled all eyes to Shakes. He’d begun to twitch, a weird expression tugging his still-closed eyes. His lips moved, forming unspoken words. While the group watched, he turned onto his stomach and pulled his knees under him, pushing his backside into the air. With a self-satisfied moan, he cut loose a ferocious fart.
“My God!” Patty screamed. She jumped from the bed and dashed through the door. Marianne remained seated for a second or two as if in shock, then she too ran from the room.
Blondie smelled it next. His nostril hairs stood on end. His eyes began to water. He rushed to the window and pushed his head as far out into the sea air as he could without falling. Almost immediately, Blondie was pinned against the side of the window by Feller and Dispatch, also gasping for air. Blondie heard Brick begin to curse, then a thud. He assumed Brick had kicked Shakes in the ass.
Blondie felt outraged. Couldn’t they ever pull anything off with any class? No wonder Grouper had pulled away. For a moment, Blondie wondered what he was doing. He had an uneasy feeling he’d let him down.
Later, as they were walking down the boardwalk, Dispatch claimed he’d seen Shakes’ flatulence.
“You can’t see a fart,” Brick said.
“It was like a shimmering green fog. Really. If you looked closely, you could see it.”
“It better be gone when we return,” Brick said to Shakes.
Shakes, come alive, argued that it hadn’t really been so bad.
“The paint’s coming off the fucking walls,” Brick replied.
“Be fair, Brick,” Feller said, “the paint was already coming off the walls.
They were on their way to the beach to sunbathe. Feller had decided they were too pale to “get lucky.”
“Girls like guys to look healthy,” he’d argued.
Already, the day was a scorcher. The sun poached in the sky above, while, in the distance, ghost puddles danced across asphalt streets. No one was brave enough to go barefooted.
When they reached the beach, they spread their towels near a group of girls. Blondie felt the sun attack his skin as soon as he removed his shirt. Applying suntan lotion only made him feel like a French fry in hot lard.
Blondie glanced over at the girls. They were just average, but, realistically, Blondie figured average was about the best they’d do. Feller was the only one in the Club he considered good-looking and one attractive guy wasn’t enough to bring home a bunch of beauties.
For the moment, though, he wasn’t worried about it. He was at the beach. The sun was out. There was nothing he had to do. Blondie shut his eyes and let his mind fall away.
Brick’s voice in his ear brought him back.
“Look at Shakes,” he said.
Brick had buried him in the sand. Only his face was showing.
“Does he know?” Blondie asked.
“No, he passed out again.”
Blondie saw Feller gesturing at him from behind Brick.
“Let’s take a walk,” he mouthed without making a sound.
Feller headed away from the group and Blondie followed. Brick and Dispatch started to come as well, but Feller waved them back.
“Someone’s got to watch out for Shakes,” he told them.
When they were away from the others, Feller said, “We’ll never score with the others around.”
Blondie didn’t tell Feller he wasn’t concerned about it. He wouldn’t have understood.
“Why don’t we scout up what we can this afternoon and make our own arrangements for tonight?” he suggested.
When Blondie shrugged, Feller told him to walk ahead and whistle if he saw anything good coming.
“That will give me time to get my head in gear for the official presentation of our line.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re two college freshmen — girls go for college guys — from Yale who just sailed down from New Haven on our dad’s yacht.”
“Do you think they’ll believe we’re college guys?” Blondie asked.
“How can they tell?”
Recalling Donald and George, Blondie realized Feller had a point.
It didn’t matter anyway. He and Feller struck out. They talked to four different groups of girls and, while the girls seemed to enjoy their attention, they weren’t interested in getting together later.
“For years, people have been telling me that high school guys and girls come to Ocean City over Labor Day to get lai
d,” Feller griped. “Someone forgot to tell the girls.”
“Maybe they have boyfriends back home,” Blondie said.
“Maybe they’re a bunch of lesbians.”
Blondie flinched at the term — and Feller’s use of it, almost as an obscenity. He’d been wondering whether to say anything to Feller about Grouper’s “confession” — he felt he needed to share it with someone. Feller had just answered the question.
When Blondie and Feller got back to where they’d left the group, a circle of people was standing around their towels. Shakes lay in the middle, still buried in sand.
“C-can’t move. P-paralyzed. B-bad b-beer. S-somebody h-help m-me.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Feller said. “Brick and Dispatch must’ve gone for a snack,”
Seven or eight adults, plus a couple small children, stared at Shakes curiously, as if he were a sea monster washed onto the shore. Blondie hurried over to him. His face looked like it had been scalded. Blondie began digging him out.
“C-can’t m-move,” Shakes repeated, near tears.
“Get hold of yourself, Shakes” he growled, embarrassed by the spectacle. “You’re just buried in sand.”
“Who d-did it?” Shakes asked angrily.
“Brick, I guess.”
“Oh.”
After they freed him, Blondie and Feller walked Shakes back to their hotel room. They found Brick and Dispatch with long faces.
“Nice going, guys,” Feller scolded. “You went away and left Shakes buried on the beach.”
“We’ve been robbed,” Dispatch said.
“What do you mean?”
“Most of our beer is gone.”
“What?”
“Yeah, there’s just one case left. You know how long that will last.”
“Who did it?” Feller demanded.
Dispatch shrugged.
Marianne bounced in, still in her underpants, sucking on a Pabst. Her eyes were manic.
“Where’d you get that beer?” Brick demanded.
Marianne walked over and sat down on the bed beside Blondie.
“Rub my back,” she demanded.
Blondie couldn’t resist.
“What are you doing, Blondie?” Brick reproached him, “These bitches stole our beer.”
“Marianne,” Blondie purred, “where’d you get that beer?”
“From Patty. She has a whole cooler full.”
Brick stomped from the room and started pounding on the door across the hall.
“There’s no one there now,” Marianne said. “They locked me out, too.”
“Where did you come from then?” Feller asked.
“The porch.”
“Well, you tell that ugly sister of yours we want our beer back,” Feller said.
“Not ugly,” Marianne said with slurred words. “My big sister.”
“Big sister?” Blondie asked. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
Feller slapped his forehead. Blondie quickly removed his hand from her back.
“You better go,” he told Marianne.
“You’re no fun,” she accused before sulking from the room.
Blondie looked at Feller, who looked at Brick, who looked at Dispatch, who looked at Shakes.
“What do we do now?” Blondie asked. “One case of beer and we don’t leave until day after tomorrow.”
“L-let’s drink what we’ve g-got,” Shakes volunteered.
“Brilliant,” Brick muttered.
Nonetheless, that’s what they did, reminiscing about the past year and all their triumphs and misfires until one by one, they each nodded off. If the girls across the hall returned, no one heard them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
They’d fucked up. Dispatch was the first to realize it. While they were still stumbling around in the afterglow of the previous night’s indulgence, Dispatch reminded them it was Sunday.
“So what?” Brick said.
“Blue laws?” Feller asked.
“Blue laws,” Dispatch answered.
Now Blondie remembered. It was illegal to sell alcoholic beverages in most Maryland counties on the Sabbath.
“How about Delaware?” Feller said.
“I don’t know anything about Delaware cops — or courts,” Dispatch replied.
“And I don’t plan on finding out.”
Dispatch was adamant.
“They s-sell b-beer in B-baltimore C-county on Sunday,” Shakes offered.
“Christ, that’s a three-hour drive each way,” Dispatch said.
“Then you better get started,” Brick ordered.
“Me? Why me? I didn’t take the beer.”
“You got the car. You got the card.”
“I won’t get back until after four,” Dispatch argued.
“We can live without your company that long,” Brick replied.
Thus began what ever after was known as “The Long Run.”
Blondie begged off from breakfast when the others went. He felt like being alone. His head was full of thoughts he didn’t want to share with anyone else, the main one being that he was finding their company taxing. He lay on his rumpled sheets facing the window. A faint breeze swayed the gauzy curtains back and forth. Tiny flecks of dust hung in the air and caught the light, blazing like miniature suns. A fly buzzed.
He didn’t hear the soft footsteps until they were beside him. It was Marianne. She’d put on striped cotton shorts and wore a stiff white blouse. With her hair freshly washed and pulled back into a knot, she looked innocent, almost prim.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked Blondie.
“I’m not mad.”
“My sister can be a real bitch.”
Marianne paused, as if waiting for him to say something.
“Are you having a good time?” Blondie asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “At least I think so.”
“It’s all right if you’re not.”
She sat down on the bed beside him.
“It’s so hard to tell,” she said.
Blondie considered it a profound statement.
“Do you want to rub my back?” she asked, brightening.
“Not this morning. Nothing personal. I have a headache.”
It was true he had a headache. It was a lie that he didn’t want to rub her back. But she was only fourteen. He had to draw the line somewhere.
“I’m sorry about the beer,” Marianne said.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why don’t you steal it back?”
“You haven’t drunk it all?”
Blondie was amazed.
“No. Patty and our friends have been drinking rum.”
“From Donald Duck.”
“Yeah, he’s nice.”
Everyone to their taste, Blondie thought.
“Where is the beer?”
“In our closet. It’s pretty warm.”
Why not steal it back? Blondie didn’t want any, but if the rest of the group did ….
Retrieving it was easy. Marianne told Kitty her sister had locked her out of their room. Kitty, already or still in a boozy haze, delivered up a duplicate key. In no time, two cases of Pabst were hidden under Blondie’s bed. Blondie couldn’t suppress a wry smile at the thought of Dispatch driving all the way to Baltimore County for no reason.
“You won’t tell your sister?”
“No, I like you.”
Blondie wished she weren’t fourteen.
“Thanks,” Blondie said as she left. She was all right.
The guys were impressed when they returned from breakfast to find their purloined cases returned. After congratulating Blondie, they lit into the beer. It was flat from hours without refrigeration, but no one complained.
Around one, Feller suggested they’d better start “scouting” or they’d have another “nooky-less” night.
“You coming?” Feller asked Blondie.
Blondie shook his head.
“You got something up your sleeve?”
Blondie shook his head again.
Feller waited until the others had gone, then sidled over to him.
“It’s about yesterday isn’t it?” he whispered. “You think you’ll do better alone.”
Blondie nodded to be agreeable. What could he say that Feller would understand? He just didn’t have the heart for going through it again: pleading their case to some girls, being rejected, getting drunk, then acting as if something significant had occurred.
After Feller left, Blondie splashed some cold water on his face and put on his cutoffs and a tank top. Might as well look as skuzzy as the rest of the teens. He grabbed a sheet and some suntan lotion and headed for the far end of the beach. When he found an open space, Blondie smeared large quantities of the lotion all over his face, arms, torso and legs, then plopped down on the sand. He gave his mind over to the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of the sun, the sound of the waves. One by one, the last snippets of thoughts fell away.
When Blondie woke, the shadow from a nearby pier covered him. He guessed it was about five o’clock. Time to reconnect with the guys.
They weren’t at the Georgian. He briefly won-dered where they’d gone. What if they’d met some girls and were having a grand time? Blondie realized he didn’t care.
A growling in his stomach reminded him he hadn’t had a thing to eat all day. He headed back toward the boardwalk. If he couldn’t find the guys, at least he could get fed.
He was walking past a beachwear shop when a movement inside caught his eye. He stopped and peered inside. A girl was trying on a straw hat. She was wearing a white blouse and blue Bermudas. Her arms and legs were the color of honey and just as smooth. She stepped up to a mirror. It was Tammy. She was alone.
Blondie debated going in and speaking to her. He could say he’d just happened into the shop. He couldn’t think of what he’d say next, so he continued on his way. But, when he reached the intersection, his legs rebelled. He couldn’t just walk away. It was now or never. No matter what happened, he had to speak to her.
Blondie padded back up the cracked sidewalk. Just as he reached the shop, Tammy came out.
“Oh, hi, you’re here,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
“What a coincidence,” Blondie responded.
Grouper's Laws Page 34